CHAPTER THREE
I sit back on my heels, staring at Harlow. Smart, sly woman. I did not see her turning the tables on me…and I should have. She seems like the sort of woman who gives as good as she gets—plus a bit more to let people know she means business.
“I don’t have speech issues.” The words come out more clipped than I mean them to.
“So you don’t have more difficulty speaking when you’re tired or nervous or in stressful situations? So it hasn’t been holding you back from conversations, social situations, or maybe even future career plans? I saw a rumor on the Internet that several networks are looking to bring you on to their broadcasting team and that you haven’t indicated your interest one way or the other. Most people suspect it’s a ploy to wheedle more money out of them, but I think you’re worried about being able to actually do the job. You don’t want your legacy to be the once-in-a-lifetime quarterback who sucked in the broadcasting booth, do you?”
I drop the condom. “I’m not talking about this now. I’ve got a hard-on from hell, and I thought we were having sex. Did you change your mind?”
“No. I really, really want you inside me.” Her face softens. “But I want to help you, too. And I can.”
“Why do you give a shit?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have earned a master’s degree in speech pathology if I didn’t have a passion for the subject and didn’t want to help people improve all the verbal, listening, and processing aspects of their lives. You have a great voice. You clearly know the game. All your fans think you’d be amazing as a commentator. I also think you’re too young to retire and live for decades off your glory days.”
“I have the money.”
“Clearly, or you couldn’t have afforded this house. That’s not what I’m saying. I just can’t picture you sitting idly until you’re too old to care what people think. That doesn’t seem like you. If it was, you would never have reached the pinnacle of professional sports and led your team to multiple Super Bowl victories. And your Wikipedia bio says you’ve been playing your whole life. So I ask myself, if a man like this can’t play anymore, how could he lend his expertise and be an ambassador for his sport? And what would hold him back from saying an obvious yes?”
Goddamn it, she’s seen right through me. I feel way more exposed in the wake of her little speech than I do sitting in front of her stark naked. “Harlow…”
“Let me try. That’s all I’m asking. It’s a win-win for both of us. If I help you past your current challenges, then you have a great second career. If I don’t, at least you won’t be wondering what if. You’ll know because you’ll have tried. And if I succeed in helping you, then I get a step up professionally. Speech following traumatic brain injury is sort of my thing. I was looking to help children, but this would look great on my resumé. I don’t see the downside here.”
Other than my utter humiliation at being broken? She’s right.
“And the truth is,” she goes on, “I don’t think I’m ready to go back to San Diego. There’s a lot going on back home. Drama I just don’t need. But I’m not one to sit idle, either. I’ve done it for a month now and I’m bored silly. Working with you would keep us both occupied and making progress toward a better future.”
“What about sex?”
She gives me a big grin. “It could be a great side benefit.”
I’m considering her words really hard. Harlow would have made a hell of a litigator because she knows exactly when and how to press her point to maximum advantage. “Let’s say I’m thinking about this.”
The satisfied rise of her brows tells me she thinks she’s won. Hell, she probably has. But…I’d have to confront the problems I’ve been avoiding for months. Which is probably smarter than burying my head in the sand. Even so, I’m not so sure I want every jock junkie and Sports Illustrated reader knowing about my deficiency.
On the other hand, what if some of my peers or teammates have been suffering in silence, too? What if I make enough progress to take this job and can use my mic and the network’s platform to give other players, past and present, hope?
Plus I’ll get to fuck Harlow now. And later, too. Like she said, win-win.
I sigh and hope I’m making the right decision—or rather that the right head is making it. “All right.”
A big smile perks up her face before something more cautious takes over. “It’s not an overnight process, though. I can’t wave my magic wand or anything.”
“How long?”
She shrugs. “Hard to say. I need to have some idea how much you’re impaired and what your triggers are. Obviously, when you’re tired.”
“Especially then.”
“And if you’re going to be jetting across time zones to cover games, that’s likely to be a lot. Does it happen when you’re nervous, too? I was guessing but…”
I shrug. “I haven’t tested that.”
I haven’t been willing to, but if being a little rattled affects my ability to find words, I won’t be terribly surprised.
“I’ll need to do a few assessments on you to be sure exactly what I’m dealing with but I have a decent idea. How long before you have to know whether you want to take this kind of job?”
“About a month. Maybe six weeks if I push it.”
She nods. “We’ll have to work fast—and diligently. I think it’s important we replicate situations that may challenge you and work on your speech then.”
“You mean therapy when I’m tired or nervous?”
“Exactly. So maybe late at night or really early in the morning, in stressful situations. That kind of thing. It will require some planning but it will ultimately be worth it, I think. It will definitely be the best way to help you progress and see where you might need a little more focus.”
A stroke of genius streaks through my brain.
“You should stay here while we work. I have plenty of room, and neither of us will have to be driving to the other in the middle of the night.” When she looks uncertain, I press my advantage. “I need a therapist and you need place to stay where you’re not hearing your brothers making babies. Win-win,” I toss her words back at her.
“You’re serious?”
“Totally.”
She shifts and stretches. “Let’s do it.”
The conversation is over. And with that visual of her dark hair spreading over my white sheets, I lose my patience with talk.
“I’ll call my attorney and have a contract drawn up,” I murmur as I prowl my way up her body, spreading her legs with my knees and making some mental notes about clauses to insert to make the most of having Harlow close. “How about we get back to the situation at”—I pause when she wraps her fingers around my stiff, aching cock—“ah…hand.”
Everything this woman does to me feels new and mind-blowing—like an experience I’m going to want to repeat.
Harlow grins as she teases me with tormentingly slow strokes. “You mean sex?”
“Yeah,” I choke out, fisting the condom wrapper so hard the corner of the foil packet jabs my palm. “I need to be inside you.”
“But I want to explore you and—”
“Later,” I bark as I loom above her and rip the square open with my teeth. “Let me fuck you, then you can do whatever you want to me.”
The laugh that slips past her lips is light and infectious, but I can’t share in the jolly while she’s jacking up my need with that molasses stroke. Instead, I’m single-minded as I get the condom open and roll it down my length. Then—finally—I press my naked body on hers and turn my entire focus her way. My hot stare drills down into her eyes as I settle my full weight between her legs.
As I glide my cock against her slick sex, her laughter dies. “Noah?”
The tremble in her voice both worries and thrills me. But her expression doesn’t convey fear at all, just pure sexual desire.
“What, baby?”
“Hurry.”
So despite that massive orgasm I gave her five minutes ago, she’s already restless and achy again? Excellent.
I clench my fingers in her hair. “Absolutely.”
When I dip my head to capture her lips, I root around to align my cock with her soft opening. As if she were a magnet for my iron-hard dick, I find the right spot almost immediately and begin to sink the head inside. I test my welcome—an inch in, an inch out. Repeat the process. She’s like warmed silk gripping me, and when she rolls her hips and digs her nails into my back in silent demand for more, I can’t stop the groan that tears from my chest.
I also can’t stop myself from plunging completely into her with one harsh, teeth-baring stroke. But once I’m in? Oh, god… Have I ever felt anything half as euphoric as being inside Harlow? I’m thinking she must feel the same since she gives me a long moan and tosses her head back. Her lips part. Her nails pierce my skin. Her legs wrap around me tight. Her pussy envelops me like a wet dream.
I want to do her slow and do her right, hold out until she comes a couple of times, chanting my name in dazed satisfaction. The minute I feel her all around me, I know that’s not going to happen.
“I won’t hold back.”
“Thank god,” she breathes.
“Grab on tight.”
She grips my shoulders with even more insistent fingers as I drag my palms down her body to lift her hips into my waiting hands. I watch her face. Harlow meets my stare. Her eyes are a dark, hypnotic green, and I’m ensnared. I’m ensorcelled.
I’m screwed.
That’s my last thought before I crash into her, full force, one unrelenting stroke after another—until the bed rattles, until she begins to flush rosy once more, until she makes the sexiest little whimpers at the back of her throat. Until she tightens on me like she’s close to climax.
Pleasure isn’t even the right word to describe the sensations coursing through my body and screaming down my spine. It’s more than bliss, more than ecstasy. It’s not like anything I’ve ever felt. I’m dizzy. I’m breathless. Every inch of my skin feels seared with fiery tingles. But it’s worse because I swear I feel her inside me, too. Like she’s squeezing my thudding heart. Like she’s cutting a deep valley through my soul.
What the hell is going on?
I don’t know but I can’t stop. I’m compelled to thrust deeper, harder, build the need higher. And as if some force bigger than both of us is coercing her, too, she nips at my shoulder, kisses my neck, skimming her lips over my jaw, all but trying to inhale me.
It’s the single most erotic experience of my life.
Unfortunately, it can’t last. I’m burning too hot, too bright. Too close to the edge.
“Harlow?” I growl out the question between a hard thrust and the next, which is even rougher. I can’t stop drilling into her. It’s as if some primal part of me is convinced I can somehow leave my stamp of ownership on her and make her mine.
“Now,” she keens out. “Please. Oh…yes!”
Suddenly, she convulses around me, and I’m a split second behind her, lava charging through my veins and jetting from my cock.
I’m dying, and it’s the best feeling I’ve ever experienced. My vision closes in on only Harlow. My breath bellows. My body pumps of its own volition—whatever it takes to get closer to this woman. The sensations are like a brick wall slamming me at a hundred miles an hour and flattening me, but it’s not pain I feel. No, she leaves me with the most amazing high. I want to feel it again right now.
Hi, my name is Noah Weston and I’m an addict. Harlow is my drug of choice.
Admitting the problem might be the first step, but I don’t want to recover. In fact, I don’t want to change a thing—except to get more of her. Instantly, I start planning to get as much of this woman as I possibly can.
The following morning, I sit up abruptly. A glance around tells me I’m alone. The bathroom door is open. There’s no one in the adjacent walk-in closet or on the balcony overlooking the majestic Pacific.
“Harlow?” I call her name in low, experimental tones.
No reply. But I see a gray SUV in the driveway on the side of the house. Did she decide to leave after last night and find a ride off the estate after all?
Damn it.
We had a deal. Why would she suddenly change her mind?
Tossing the sheet back, I grope around for shorts and snag my toothbrush off the bathroom counter, squeezing a dollop of paste from the tube and brushing my teeth as I jog down the stairs. I’ve got to stop her. First, last night we had the best sex I’ve ever had and I’m nowhere near done with that woman. Second, the more I think about her proposition, the more I suspect she’s right. Speech therapy could not only help me, but her—and all the other guys in the league who may be too hesitant to come forward and admit that concussions have screwed with their mental faculties. Maybe I can do more good with my position than win a trophy and a few rings.
At the bottom of the stairs, I spot the powder bath. I also hear the mumble of a distinctly male voice.
Shit. Who is this interloper and what is he doing in my house?
Totally disregarding the fact that I haven’t scrubbed my pearly whites for two minutes, I duck into that guest bathroom, do a quick spit and rinse, then haul ass toward the kitchen.
“I’m fine,” I hear Harlow say to her mystery guest I can’t see around the corner.
She sounds defensive. If I were whoever she’s talking to now, I wouldn’t believe her. Besides, anytime a woman says she’s “fine,” she’s definitely not.
“What does that mean?” he demands.
“It means that nothing is wrong and that I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”
“Five days ago, you were—”
“I know what happened. I don’t need the reminder.” Now Harlow sounds thoroughly annoyed. “I wasn’t all in your business when—”
“My life was falling apart? Yeah, you were.” He snorts. “So I’m not stepping out of yours.”
What is this guy talking about? I have no idea, but I intend to find out.
“Don’t do this,” she implores.
“Do what? Care? You mean the world to me, and I refuse to leave you now.”
My insides seize up. So here’s another guy with a thing for Harlow. I shouldn’t be furious. I shouldn’t even be surprised. If I was one of her exes, I’d be fighting for her, too. I get where he’s coming from. No idea why Harlow let him into my house, but I’ll be damned if he’s staying—or taking her with him. She’s here, and unless she tells me she’s completely in love with him, she’s mine. At least for now. He can go fuck himself.
I storm into the kitchen. Harlow barely has time to turn to me with a gasp before I give my competition a steely glare and wrap my arm around her waist. Yes, I’m marking my territory. I feel possessive. Hey, at least I didn’t lift my hind leg.
Harlow tries to shimmy and slink away. I hold firm.
“Problem?” I growl because I don’t like the way he’s talking to her, as if he has a right to meddle in her life. Hell, I don’t like him talking to her at all.
Harlow glances between me and the competition, who’s got dark hair and a very serious expression. He looks younger than me and he’s definitely dressed smarter. I also notice he’s wearing a wedding band. Fuck. Does that mean Harlow is his mistress…or his wife?
I expect the guy to growl at me, tell me to get my goddamn hands off his woman—something appropriately cavemanish. Instead, he stands and thrusts out his hand. “Mr. Weston, it’s an honor to meet you.”
I hesitate, then realize he’s sly after all. I have to let go of Harlow in order to shake his hand. I don’t do it happily.
“Thank you. Who are you and why are you here harassing my girl?”
“This is so awkward,” Harlow sighs as she shakes her head. Then she holds up her hands to ward the other guy off. “Before you freak out, Griff, just listen…”
Scowling, Griff takes in my shirtless form and then the slinky robe Harlow has wrapped around her body. Her well-worked nipples poke through the silk of her garment and tell me that she’s not wearing a stitch underneath. Unless he’s blind, I’ll bet the other guy noticed, too.
Maybe that’s not a bad thing. At least now he knows that if he wants Harlow back, he’s going to have a fight.
“His girl? You fucking slept with him?” Griff explodes. “Do you have any idea how many notches are on his bedpost?”
I glare at Griff. So much for being honored to meet me.
“It’s none of your business,” she insists. “Like I said, I’ve got my life handled without your interference.”
“I was willing to accept that when I thought that meant you’d resolved to put the past behind you and had found another job on the island so you didn’t have to head back to San Diego. I didn’t think that meant you’d found someone to shack up with.”
“Hey,” I challenge him with a scowl. “What she and I do is none of your business, asshole. So stop whining, accept that she’s moved on from you, and dust off your man card. While you’re at it, get the hell out of my house.”
I expect a lot of reactions, but again, this guy surprises me when he plants himself on my barstool again and bursts out laughing. “She will never move on from me. Ever. I will be in her life for the rest of her days, whether either of us wants that or not.”
I frown. Do they have a child together? Harlow doesn’t look as if she’s ever given birth but I know women who are in great shape following pregnancy. It’s possible. But Harlow baps him on the shoulder none too gently with an annoyed tsk, which doesn’t seem at all like something ex-lovers do when they’re having a disagreement.
What’s going on here?
“Stop being a douche, Griff. Don’t yank his chain.” She turns to me. “You don’t have to play possessive or whatever this act is. Griff isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my brother.”
It only takes a second for her words to sink in. Once they do, I feel like a fucking idiot. She told me she had brothers living on the island. I just never put two and two together. And now I see the resemblance. They both have the same striking green eyes.
“I’m also one of your Realtors.” He raises a brow at me. “Griffin Reed.”
I remember that name. And I feel like an even bigger ass.
We have this uncomfortable stare-down thing, and I’m trying not to look guilty until another voice interrupts our pregnant silence.
“What is taking so damn long? If Weston is here, Harlow should be ready to go.” Another well-dressed suit strides in. He’s got impeccable golden hair and shiny shoes. I’m betting this is her other Realtor brother. He and Griff both look like a proverbial million dollars—which I paid them in commission to buy this house. “So let’s pack up her shit and—” When the guy notices me, he freezes. “Mr. Weston.”
Harlow intercedes. “Noah, this is my older brother, Maxon.”
He gives her barely dressed form a once-over. I doubt he fails to catalog her mussed sex hair and the faint hint of whisker burn on her cheeks. It’s a small blessing that the Reed brothers can’t see her inner thighs right now.
I search for a greeting or some light chitchat that will break the tension in the room. I come up blank. Not only don’t I have a topic in mind but my tongue feels glued to the roof of my mouth. I take deep breaths. I sweat. I try to push through. I need whatever verbal skills I have now. No, the guys in suits might not beat me up for getting horizontal with their sister, but I have no trouble believing they’re clever enough to plot some insidious revenge when I least expect it. Besides, they’re Harlow’s family. I don’t want to make waves for her.
Thankfully, she saves me from the awkward silence. “As you can see, I’m fine, which is what I’ve been explaining to Griff. I appreciate that you heard Noah had arrived on the island early and decided to come ‘rescue’ me, but it’s not necessary. I’ll be staying here for a while.”
Maxon scowls at her. “You did a great job house-sitting, but I doubt he needs your services anymore. I don’t want to know anything about the welcome you gave him last night, but now it’s time for you to vacate and let him have the privacy he paid for.”
I want to jump in and tell them both that I’ve hired their sister to help me secure a broadcasting gig. But they don’t have any idea I’ve had intermittent problems with my speech, so who knows if they’ll even believe me. And I certainly don’t want them telling the world. Besides, I can’t even speak at the moment.
Well, shit. I guess I do have trouble getting my words out when I’m rattled. What a great time to find out…
“Actually, he does still need my services, so I’m staying for a while. You and Keeley have your hands full now that the bed-and-breakfast is open. Didn’t you just host those bigwig honeymooners from D.C. for a couple of weeks? I know you’ve got other bookings coming up.” Then she turns to Griff. “You and Britta are moving into a new house and you’re both eager to conceive a new brother or sister for Jamie, so I’ll only be in the way. I swear, I’m fine here.”
Maxon looks unmoved as he turns to me. “You want her staying?”
I can’t find words, but I’m glad as hell he’s asked me a yes-or-no question. I give him a firm nod. End of discussion.
He looks as if he’s biting back a curse. Griff’s mien looks equally reluctant. I want to tell them I’ll make Harlow deliriously happy. But they’re men, so they’ll interpret my meaning as I intend to keep their sister happy in bed…which is true. Maybe it’s a good thing that I can’t talk just now.
“There you go.” Harlow gestures to me and catches my stare. When a little frown appears between her brows, I know she understands what’s up with me.
In truth, having this unpredictable disability is both frustrating and humiliating. I’ve never been incapable of anything in my life, except maybe ballet. Yes, my college coach made us try it a few times for balance training. Or that’s what he claimed. I still think he meant it as punishment. Either way, I’m not used to feeling helpless. And right now is the worst. Harlow could use the backup against her protective brothers, and I’m out of commission.
Finally, Griff sighs and rises from his seat. “All right. If you change your mind, my door is open. I teased you about possibly crashing my newlywed, baby-conceiving bliss, but I wasn’t serious. You’re always welcome. Britta would say the same, and you know Jamie loves his Auntie Harlow.”
She nods, looking both relieved and grateful. “Thanks. You good now, big brother?”
Maxon glances my way, gritting his teeth. “I don’t like it because I know your reputation, Weston. If you hurt my sister—”
“Stop!” Harlow looks horrified.
I want to jump into the conversation and defend myself. I’m not an asshole. And I’m not led around by my dick. Well, I’m not when Harlow isn’t around. I’d at least like to assure them I’m not going to hurt her.
But I can’t say a fucking word.
“What?” Maxon tosses his hands in the air. “I’m just saying—”
“Don’t,” Harlow cuts in. “There are eight bedrooms here, as you know. I can choose any of them I want and I’ll be fine.” When Maxon still looks unconvinced, she glowers at him. “Noah hired me to do a job, so I’m going to do it. I’ll be helping him, and he’s helping me by letting me stay for a bit.”
“What kind of job? Will you be taking care of more than his house?”
“It’s the kind of job we’ll do with our clothes on, so butt out, big brother. Seriously. He’s a decent guy.”
“With a sexual track record so long it’s more like a marathon.”
If Maxon wasn’t taking shots at me, I might laugh at his turn of phrase. Instead, I shake my head. I’ve had my share of women, sure. I won’t lie about that. But I’m not a man whore.
“I don’t care,” Harlow argues. “We’re working together, and you’re embarrassing me. Once the job is over, I’ll let him have the place to himself and go on with my life. I’m not looking for romance, so you don’t have to worry about whatever delicate heart you think I have. Just…go. I’ve got this.”
Maxon grits his teeth. “Why are you the most stubbornly independent female I know?”
“You mean other than your wife?”
“I’m starting to think you even have her beat, and that’s saying a lot.”
“Oh, I’m so going to tell Keeley you said that.”
He snorts. “Threats won’t work. Promise you’ll call if you need us. We’re worried. Five days ago—”
“Is not something I’m discussing. Pick up and move out, guys. Aren’t you going to be late for work?”
Griff glances at his phone with a grimace. Maxon whips his arm up to stare at the vintage-looking Cartier on his wrist, then swears.
“Fine. We’re going.” Griff crosses his arms over his chest. “Call us if you need anything.”
“I will,” she assures softly. “Um, are Mom and Dad still on the island?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Mom isn’t shy about showing off how happy she and Marco are right now. Dad’s feeling like he needs to keep up.”
Maxon nods. “It’s a shit show. And they both want to talk to you.”
Harlow looks disturbed by that. “Oh, please tell them you have no idea where to find me.”
“Only if you two promise to have dinner with us in the next few days.”
They want to check up on their sister, watch us interact together. I’m annoyed but I don’t blame them. Well, not entirely. I just hope I can form goddamn words by then.
“Fine. Just keep them off my back.”
“Let me clarify: a nice sit-down dinner. With Keeley and Britta.” The oldest brother’s expression softens. “They’re worried about you, too.”
Regret passes over Harlow’s face, and I wonder what the hell has been going on in her life. “I didn’t even consider that. I’m sorry. Tell them both I’ll call soon. Maybe we’ll do lunch one day this week if they’re free.”
“Thanks.” Griff leans in to kiss his sister’s cheek. “It would mean a lot to Britta.”
Maxon follows suit. “Same with Keeley. Her mom and Phil went back to Phoenix. She’s been a little weepy since. Oh, and I’m supposed to give you this.” He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a CD. “My wife says this is a warm-up. She’ll have more for you soon.”
Harlow glances at the disc, then gives Maxon a rueful smile. “You’ve got a keeper. Thanks. Give both girls my love. And ruffle Jamie’s hair for me.”
“Will do.”
She glances at me before turning back to her brothers. “Did…anyone else leave the island?”
Their grim faces say they understand her question. I’m totally lost.
“About an hour after you took off,” Griff assures.
That makes her sigh with relief. Clearly, she wants to avoid someone. I wonder who that might be and what’s going on. I want to ask but I’m pretty sure my words would come out like gibberish.
I curse a blue streak in my head, then realize the brothers are focused on me. We don’t say a word, but there’s a whole lot of Alpha male testosterone floating through the air. They want me to know they both think the job I’ve supposedly hired Harlow to do is bullshit and they don’t appreciate me banging their sister. I want them to know that I’ll treat her well as long as we’re together, but otherwise, they can butt out.
After our silent conversation, they give me curt nods, then head out the front door.
As soon as it snicks shut, Harlow turns to me, hands on my shoulders. “Breathe. Everything is fine. Thanks for not losing your cool with my brothers. They mean well. And believe it or not, that actually went smoothly. They usually hate any guy I see.”
I press my lips together, swallow, then drag in a deep breath. My nerves evaporate. And suddenly, the words between my brain and my lips begin to flow. “That was good?”
My enunciation isn’t perfect, but I get the point across.
“Totally. Don’t worry about them. Coffee?”
“I’ll make it. What happened five days ago?”
Harlow doesn’t meet my gaze. “Stupid family drama. I walked away from it. Everyone is worried about me because I might have lost my shit before I hustled out more abruptly than I should have. A lot of it has to do with my parents. They’re separated and it’s ugly and…” She grimaces as if the conversation is painful. “Can we talk about something else?”
She’s dodging me, and I don’t love it. But I understand. We’ve known each other fifteen hours. It feels longer, or like I know her way more than I actually do. Or maybe I’m simply more invested than I should be. Either way, she’s put up a verbal KEEP OUT sign, and I have to respect that I have no place in her family issues. She’s helping me with my speech, and I’m giving her a place to stay. We’re going to share orgasms. That should be it. But there’s no reason we can’t be friends, too, right? Her brothers’ behavior gave me the impression that whatever is going on with her is a big fucking deal. Like any friend, I want to be here for her if she needs help.
“Sorry to hear that. We can talk about whatever you want, but I’m willing to listen if you need to get something off your mind.”
“Oh, god. The last thing I want to do is talk. I’m going to grab a shower and do some research on how best to tackle your challenges so we can get started.” Then she gives me a second, lingering glance. “But you look mighty fine without a shirt. I’m tempted to chuck responsibility for a few hours and go back to bed. What do you say?”
I love Harlow’s suggestion, but I don’t like feeling as if she brushed me off. Still, I can’t force her to confide in me. “Why don’t you grab that shower while I make some coffee and call my attorney. I want to get your contract set up today so you can sign it. Then…we’ll see.”
“Sure thing, hunk. I’m excited. This is going to beat the hell out of a traditional eight-to-five job. And if last night is any indication, the sex will be an awesome perk.” She winks at me, then swishes toward the stairs.
I watch her, both aroused and vaguely irked that she seems to like our sexual chemistry—and my penis—more than she actually likes me.
With a frown, I watch Harlow walk away, her sway happy-go-lucky. Her brothers’ visit suggests she should be anything but. Seemingly, she’s using sex to avoid personal interaction and wants orgasms more than the guy giving them to her. Since she’s not a man-trophy collector, it’s unexpected. The woman is a mystery. She’s intriguing. I’m usually a brute-force kind of guy…but I already know that solving her is going to take finesse. But something is making her tick, and I want to know what.